I can remember the first time…

A guest post from Eric.

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I can remember the first time I saw the iconic yellow smiley face. It was a yellow button with a black pair of dots for eyes and a curved-line beneath them to form the smile. It was a button given to me by my mother at the Doctor’s office on the occasion of my 4th annual check up. One where I was destined to get a shot.

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And shots back then, if I’m recalling correctly, were a lot more barbaric. The needles were BIG! A thick shaft of hard steel with a rust barb dangling from the tip. And they’d jab it right into your temple while the nurses all kicked and bit you and then they doused the wounds with vinegar and kerosene and bee stings and fire. Or that’s how I remembered it, anyway. And relative to how my kids get to BREATHE their vaccinations through their nose today, it WAS that bad.

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My Mom told me, though, that if I wore the Smiley button the shot wouldn’t hurt and I wouldn’t cry. I’d only be able to smile. It was a Smiley button. And I was comforted by that. Sounded logical. I was 4.

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Well this smiley face button was defective or my mom lied to me with a straight face. Because YEAH it hurt, and YEAH I cried. The whole thing was a nightmare.

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This doctor comes in, staggering, moaning like a zombie, brandishing this jagged, dripping needle. He towered over me, massive in his scrubs shirt, sleeves pushed high by the girth of his menacing biceps. Needle high in the air, pulsing with the acrid stench of this noxious serum he intended to inject inside me!

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And he charged me, and ran me through. I shrieked like I was in the jaws of a great white shark. The Doctor squeezed the needle and the vaccine (the contents of which I was NOT briefed on) invaded my bloodstream, scattering about to all corners of my physical self. And, as I persisted in screaming bloody murder, he left.

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Smiley pin, I have to admit, did not serve its intended purpose. The big fat chocolate bar that came out of my Mom’s purse right on cue after the shot, on the other hand, did.

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How does one emerge from that sort of trauma unscathed? I can’t tell you, because I didn’t. It was a human atrocity. But I don’t blame the smiley button. In fact I’m thankful for the distraction. Sometimes, under very specific sets of circumstances, the next best thing to hope is false hope. Thanks Smiley face.

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PROLOGUE: Despite its failure I saved that smiley button my whole life. It sat in my bedroom junk drawer for years. Then as a rebellious teen I wore it ironically for a time on my tattered denim jacket, replete with blood stains. Currently today, I’m pretty sure it’s caked with lint and beneath the washing machine in our laundry room.